Running

She is always on the run. Running from something yet not knowing what that something is. Struggling to stay on the surface yet wanting to sink to the bottom where no one can find her. Drowning her misery in booze and pills. Raging with anger, tormented by her own soul. She feels so alone in this world surrounded by so many people, but who are these people, people she knows, or strangers who just come across her path. She wanders down the winding road only hoping that someone will pass her by, not knowing what she is looking for yet still hanging on to hope that something is coming. She lies to herself, to her daughter, and mainly to her friends. She does not know what happiness means, she is bitter toward the world and bitter toward herself for the choices she made and the choices she now lives with. Scars from within, scars on the surface, scars that lie deeper than any should ever experience. Sleepless nights are driving her crazy. So tired, but can’t sleep no matter how hard she tries. She says she is not looking; yet she searches everywhere she can. Empty handed is where she is. Tired and angry. Bitter and cold, acting out in destruction hoping for some sort of light. She drinks it away and everyone loves her but at the end of the night she doesn’t even know this person they all love. Pills give her the energy, the little boost to make her get up; the drinking drowns all the things she doesn’t want to think about. She will always be on the run, nothing can stop her, yet always running against the wind.